


Paradise

by SayonaraRevival



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Childhood Friends, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Original Character(s), Platonic Relationship, Post-Game, Present Tense, Unnamed characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 00:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SayonaraRevival/pseuds/SayonaraRevival
Summary: Shibuya's new Conductor reunites with a beloved friend, but just like a rose has thorns, such a gift comes with much more baggage than he likes to imagine it would have.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ephemeralDELUSiON](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralDELUSiON/gifts).



> The Conductor here is formerly an officer reaper in Shibuya, who was on a rather extended vacation during the events of TWEWY.
> 
> Note that this doesn't touch upon the Long Game much, it's more of a backdrop; this fic borrows a lot of elements from [TRG](http://shibuyasgame.tumblr.com/), namely a neighboring district, and unnamed, loosely-inspired-by versions of four characters.
> 
> It's not proofread heavily, so errors / typos might still exist.

"I'll find it, you know.  
A paradise, only for you and I."

He remembers her, at the bright age of seven, proclaiming that she is going to take him far away from both their problems. It is a cute idea, but he doubts it would happen. But he smiles, anyway. He entertains the thought.

"Okay. I'll be waiting."

\--

He remembers her, at the age of twelve on the day she cried, clinging to him until he couldn't hold back tears as well. Her birthday is next week, but his family is taking him to Shibuya. She can't come visit him, and she'll spend her birthday alone in Kyoto. He'll spend his birthdays alone, too. She is his only friend.

He's still waiting.

\--

He remembers her, while he's at the age of seventeen and slowly dying, wondering if he'll be the first one to paradise. He can't decide if he hopes she's there already, waiting for him, or if he hopes she's on the way to her own happiness.

He's still waiting.

\--

He doesn't know why he, of all people, was chosen to remain in the world, in this strange alive-yet-dead state. Maybe it's because he still misses her, because he wants to see his childhood friend again. He wonders about her, but the higher-ups tell him they won't help him find her again.

He's still waiting.

\--

It's been ten years since he's seen her. Now he's twenty-two and feels more like he's thirty-two. He's still alive-yet-dead, that won't be changing, but now he _is_ the higher-up, answering only to one above him. He gets why he's here, but it doesn't change much. He still wonders how she is doing.

He's still waiting.

\--

Transfer papers came in from Harajuku, for a genderfluid Reaper who looks very little like his childhood friend. The name is the same as her, and his stomach drops immediately at the sight, but this person died three years ago, by suicide, and they are everything she wasn't.

Obedient. She was always questioning authority.  
Efficient. She used to take a lot more time to do anything than necessary.  
Reliable. She used to try to weasel out of anything she didn't want to do.

He doesn't think it's her, he doesn't think he can believe this would be what she'd become. This isn't what he remembers--

Regardless, the recommendations are absolutely stunning, and he brings them in for an interview.

\--

They sit down on the interview chair quietly. They look confident yet respectful -- another two things she never was. He doesn't think this is the same girl he knew back then. There's so much difference between her and this Reaper in front of him. With that much makeup carefully applied, masking their real emotions, it's impossible for him to tell whether or not their features match hers.

Where she had black hair, this Reaper has bleached hair, further dyed into a gentle, but bright green. He doesn't know how he feels; on one hand, green is his favorite color, but on the other... why did she feel the need?

Where she had amber eyes, this Reaper has lavender contacts, easily discerned from the close proximity. Does this, too, mask something they don't want anyone else to see?

... More importantly, does this mask cover something that he may or may not want to know?

\--

The Reaper passes with flying colors, every question on the interview nailed with a dainty, airy voice that hardly befits one from Harajuku. The area and its strict rules, based on its large amount of Players being pulled as rejects from other wards around Tokyo, tends to breed powerful, but unstable Reapers, and he's just a little concerned that this one was no different.

They need Reapers too much to decline, however.

They'd applied for Harrier, a position perfect for the bloodthirsty type -- but racking up points was the primary goal here. Not mindless erasure. It's a legitimate concern, he thinks to himself. He doesn't admit that he's so afraid that's really her, and she's become a monstrosity.

As Conductor, he works with the Composer, and they process the application with haste. He seems to the Composer to be a little fearful of something; even though it's pointed out, despite how he knows the Composer sees right through him, he still doesn't speak the words on the tip of his tongue.

The Composer simply clicks his tongue at the Conductor and moves on. 

\-- 

The two of them send Harajuku's Composer the completed paperwork for the Harajuku Reaper's transfer to Shibuya, and they arrive three days later. He's so nervous inside, but his strictly business demeanor masks the concern well.

Whatever Reapers are left after the Long Game do not to complain when the Harajuku Reaper arrives. They all get along, as well as possible, although some note the Reaper remains at a distance, keeping others at arm's length. He wonders if that's intentional; he hasn't seen them since they arrived, either.

\--

The week begins, the new selection of Players begin their trial, and the Reapers go to town.

He's not sure what he expects -- they don't show any bloodthirst, and only had one erasure by the fifth day. Their points are falling behind the other Harriers, and they are simply throwing out Noise at Players here and there. In fact, some of the Players seem to like them.

What are they hiding?

There's too many skeletons resting in the closet.

\--

The sixth day dawns, and he's graced this day by a false sense of security. The Harajuku reaper hasn't yet tried anything funny, and they appear the same as they are during other days. He even feels comfortable taking a lunch break at a restaurant.

The moment he walks out of it, there's an ear-splitting scream from around the corner, right from the Noise Plane, and he immediately follows the sound. He's greeted by static, one Player, and the Harajuku Reaper.

They've got a fierce look in their eyes, almost maniacal, and they held their foot to the Player's throat. The Player in question had a weak grip around the Reaper's leg, but it quickly becomes unnecessary -- only one flick of Excalibur and the Reaper's blasted back against the wall.

He leans down to whisper harshly. "I'll be back to deal with you."

\--

The Player, six minutes and counting, is offered the Reapership deal, and accepts, although with a dumbstruck look. Just like that, the newest Reaper is taken to get a quick introduction to the ropes of Reapership. It takes him roughly ten more minutes, and he leaves the new Support Reaper with an Officer from Kawasaki to clear up the rest of the confusion. 

He still has something to do.

When he returns to that corner with the restaurant, he doesn't expect to see the Harajuku Reaper still laying in the same exact place he'd left them. But they are, and when he leans down on his knee to pick them up by the collar, he notices their wet cheeks. Their lavender contacts just continue staring into nothingness when they're rolled over.

"What were you _thinking?_ " he hisses, despite being baffled by the tears drying on their face.

They move their lips a bit, a slight rasp coming out, only audible from the close proximity.

"Why didn't you... erase me... ?"

It's about this moment he notices a hint of amber irises around the pupil where the contacts are transparent. His breath catches in his throat, for two reasons.

\--

He helps them to their feet while he returns to his usual stone-faced exterior, moving them to his office within the Dead God's Pad. They almost fall again upon arrival, and he allows them to slump into a chair. With slow, lethargic motions not unlike a theatrical zombie, they wipe their makeup off, then remove the contacts.

He's sitting down on the chair when they finish, waiting for them.

"Please enlighten me on why you disobeyed the rule preventing dual erasure of a pair."

When their eyes widen, their head shoots up and they stare at him, he immediately regrets it -- the tears in their eyes had just stopped, and the sniffles had just subsided, and he could tell there's a little moisture gathering in their eyes again.

He doesn't show it.

They glance down after just a few seconds, their wording choppy and uncertain. " _Rule?_ I... I didn't know... "

It only then hits him that he hadn't informed the Harajuku Reaper of the recent addendum to Shibuya's code of conduct. Following the Long Game, one of the first things he'd done with the Composer was to iron out ways to bolster the Reapers' lacking ranks, as many of the transfers were intended to be temporary until Shibuya could get back on its metaphorical feet.

The new rule preventing erasure of both pacted Players in a pair is the only one of these solutions that are applied to the Harriers and Supports.

"... My apologies. It appears I've forgotten to inform you of that rule."

He adjusts his glasses and hopes his performance as Conductor has been at least somewhat satisfactory.

\--

With even less energy in their voice, the Harajuku Reaper explains many things. There, the Reapers would be punished with erasure if disrespecting or disobeying their Composer and Conductor. With the massive amount of Players in a small area, the Reapers had to thin out the ranks as much as possible, but the rules were strict on both sides to remain fair to either. That even if they were to get far in the game, if any given Player hadn't been at fault for another Player's erasure, that Player would be erased come day seven.

It sounds horrific.

Their tears, fear, and emotional instability suddenly makes complete sense. Perhaps it also makes sense how well they respect authority, then.

He's still hoping desperately this Reaper isn't really _her_ \-- despite how, without their makeup and contacts, they have the eyes and features of his childhood friend. She would've suffered immensely to be in such a strict district, after the way her parents treated her...

He clears his throat.

\--

He lets them stay in the pad when he goes back out to oversee the Game. However, it proves very hard to concentrate when his mind's running in circles, berating him for his oversights regarding the Harajuku Reaper, and his guilt from treating them badly, even if only for a moment. 

It's still hard to continue to deny this Reaper is his childhood friend, but his mind finds a way. Perhaps he just doesn't want to deal with the realization that someone who deserves the best has only been given the worst.

When he returns, it's to the skinny figure of the Harajuku Reaper napping in the Dead God's Pad, and a hand on their shoulder wakes them up. They move upright with sleepy eyes, still a tad red in the whites.

"May we talk further at my apartment, if you will?"

They nod blearily. 

\--

He takes them back to his apartment, and make them some tea that they never try.

"I'm deeply sorry if I have been treating you unfairly," he begins, and it's hard to force the words out, but a necessary hardship. "The truth is that you have the same name and remind me of a childhood friend of mine, one I miss dearly. It seems as though I'm having trouble separating my work from my past, and it is certainly not your fault."

The Harajuku Reaper remains silent for the longest time -- staring down at their untouched tea. So, he continues.

"If you would like to stay home tomorrow, or return to Harajuku, you need only say the word."

Expecting silence, he sips his own tea, but after a moment, they speak with a deathly quiet voice, almost a whisper.

"I'm sorry, too... "

He's almost ready to ask what they're sorry about, but they beat him to it -- he's silenced by those familiar amber eyes looking at him without passion, plagued from something unspeakable.

"... You haven't changed much, but... I lost my first friend, then I lost my first love, and then... I lost myself."

It's a confirmation that hits so hard he swallows the tea roughly and sets down his tea. It's impossible to deny that this _is_ her, perhaps in a different form than he remembered, but this is his childhood friend, nonetheless. It also means he's unsure of what to do, and whether he should ignore the desire to give them a hug; their expression looks as though they've truly had everything they've ever enjoyed taken from them.

Perhaps it hurts the most that such a thought isn't implausible. If this discovery continues down the same path, then it stung harder that they've had to suffer for such an unspeakably long time...

And he wasn't there.

\--

She never was good at making friends back then. The Harajuku Reaper, too, told him they'd only made one friend since. They mention immediately after that the only surefire way to become a Reaper in Harajuku was to be the last Player standing.

So, their Partner -- their first love, and their second friend -- had sacrificed himself, being erased by his Partner's hand, only to grant them the ability to survive to see further days.

Even then, they make it clear that the rules there are important, for reasons he's not sure they know fully. 

They were a reject, but he knows that the rejects of other wards aren't necessarily rejected because their Imagination was too low... sometimes, a Player has too much potential for a district, or perhaps the wrong type of potential for the ward they died in.

They'd have to die within Tokyo to be sent to Harajuku -- but _why_ were they in Tokyo? He asks why they moved from Kyoto; their answer felt like a stab to the chest.

They wanted to see him again. 

Although they couldn't afford to live in Shibuya, they visited often from their home in Suginami. They never saw him within the first year, and lost a lot of their weight from only being able to work a part-time job while searching for him.

Three years ago, when they say they gave up on all their goals, and ended their life at age nineteen -- he was already deceased, but they couldn't have known that. Things were tense with their parents back when he'd succumbed to the illness, and his parents hadn't even thought to invite their family to the funeral in the first place, all the way from Kyoto.

They say all this with a melancholic face, and it's all he can do to refrain from crying.

\--

When the two finally finish speaking, he indeed is wiping his eyes from under his glasses. They've finally ceased their own tears and pull away from their tight cling to his chest, and he lets them leave his embrace.

He feels the weight of the world on his shoulders, eternally, but even though the weight has become heavier, he still sees hope.

His friend from all those years ago wants to stay in Shibuya, and they're willing to work through the consequences of the circumstances. To work past their troubled life, and to strive to make the afterlife the best it can be. 

They won't walk this path alone, he told them over and over again while they cried out the past ten years into his shirt. That even if the world gave up on them, he's there now. He doesn't care what his friend has become, because they are still his friend. He doesn't care that they've changed their entire being, or that they lost sight of themself, because they are still the person he missed the most. And he won't leave their side ever again.

Although he's not entirely sure what will happen from here, and they're not sure either, it's something he's willing to work through, no matter what.

With a hand wiping the tears from their eyes by his thumb, he smiles, in spite of his own sorrow, and in spite of his own eyes still stinging a bit. They mouth something too quietly to hear, and what the movements of their lips says doesn't click until they mash their cheek against his shoulder again.

_I found it._


End file.
